(A/N) Alright, this is just a silly (probably very) little poem I came up with. It's a bit of a strange subject, I'll admit that, but at least I tried. Also, it's not a poem where every single line rhymes, just thought I'd point that out to ya. It's more of a descriptive poem, but they are poems, and I have written lots before. :-)
Reviews would be nice, I actually want to know how I did on this one, because I don't think it's very good, but I might as well try, right?
~ooOOoo~
A sharpened blade cleanly cuts from left to right, severing the child's neck.
He drops to the ground, the culprit of his death,
Himself.
Screams, piercing and frightening, shatter the serenity of the morning.
A river of blood trickles from the source, spanning over the cobblestones, twisting and weaving.
A woman screams, and the basket of flowers she is holding, slice through the air and land on the ground.
The blood passes next to it, rivalling the redness of the roses nestled inside the fence of twine and linen.
Luscious roses, velvet and soft to the touch, yet all different shades in the glimmering sunlight.
But even as they stand tall, proud in their prime.
Know their end is coming.
She avenges her son's death with spite, and rips other children's life so cruelly from them.
She just wants everyone to feel her pain.
But no-one understands her, and that is her eternal bane.
They only see a pale, sunken-eyed monstrosity in black who is a menace to Crythin Gifford.
Down in the depths of Eel Marsh house, creeping in the darkest of shadows.
She is there.
Seeking to exact her rage onto any unsuspecting person foolish enough to set foot into the house.
Her house. The place of her death.
The place where she watched her son drown in the causeway.
Where her heart shattered into pieces, leaving a gaping hole in her chest.
One night she broke into the nursery, where she used to play with her baby boy.
The mechanical monkey was his favourite toy.
And hung herself with a single rope.
Full of hope,
That she would see Nathaniel again.
Hear his laughter once more, feel his tiny fingers as they would clutch at her hand.
But it was not meant to be.
And she became the Woman in Black, formerly known as Jennet Humfrye.
Roaming the land.
Everyone knows she's there,
But what happens to their children, they cannot bare.
Roses are red, violets are blue.
The Woman in Black is coming after you.
~ooOOoo~
(A/N) See, I told you, strange. It's just important to remember what I said about the roses at the beginning of the poem. That's how I came to the ending. :-P